Blood Tears
by Zoya Shaf
Summary: There he goes laughing his head off, telling us he just committed a murder. We arrive at the scene of the crime, a mansion next to a lake, and there's no one there. No dead body, no signs of struggle, no nothing. Other than a tiny blood stain on the wall.
1. Premonition

**A.N: I have nothing to say other than I hope you guys enjoy!**

**This story is dedicated to WatsonandMary4ever**

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><p><strong>Blood Tears, Chapter One<strong>

**Premonition**

Holmes mindless strumming reverberated throughout the house. He sat on his wooden chair, one leg underneath him and the other dangling off the edge. He was positioned next to the fire-place, and the glow of it placed an eerie shadow on his face. His eyes were closed, and he wore a look of deep concentration on his face. His already filthy rags looked filthier and the weariness in the lines of his face was more than obvious. It had been weeks since he had gotten appointed to a proper case, and it was driving Holmes nuts. Watson lay on the couch, his eyes closed. He was drifting. Many thoughts ran through his head, yet he refused to cling to even one of them. He wanted to drift. Let go of everything, just fade to exist for a whi...

One of the strings on Holmes violin snapped, causing Watson to jump up. Holmes hadn't even flinched. A silence ensured. Mary was out visiting her parents, and for the time being Watson was back to staying with Holmes.

He sighed.

"What's the matter, Holmes?" Watson asked concern laced in his voice.

His companion scrunched his brow, but didn't open his eyes.

"I have been thinking, my dear Watson."

A smile formed on Watson's lips. "Yes Holmes?"

"It is not quite possible for one to 'absentmindedly' do a task. Some part of the human brain has to be focused onto the task at hand; otherwise it will be a complete disaster." The grown man opened his eyes lazily.

"Holmes, you must understand the term 'figurative speech'"

Holmes reply was a blank stare.

"Now tell me, Holmes. What's really bothering you." Watson knew Holmes too well to let the distress in his friend's eyes go unnoticed. He also knew Holmes too well to know exactly what was bothering him.

His friend let out an aggravated sigh and ran a hand through his already messy hair.

"It's been months and no work has come. Is there no crime about? The brain is a muscle you know, it needs to be constantly at work. And my brain is about starved!"

'This again,' Watson thought. He knew it was coming, but still…he had some hopes.

"Listen Holmes, why don't yo..." Watson was cut off by the phone ringing. He looked at Holmes, who in turn made no movement as to pick up the call.

Sighing Watson got up and went over to the kitchen, where the phone was hung on the wall. It might have been the 21st century, but Watson still preferred the old ways.

"221B Baker Street, John Watson speaking."

"Mr. Watson, it's been quite long." a hearty voice replied.

"Mr. Lancroft!" Watson exclaimed. Daniel Lancroft was a police detective in Colwyn Bay. He was also a very good friend of Holmes.

From his resting place, Sherlock Holmes looked at Watson. 'Lancroft?' he thought. At once he sprang from his chair and rushed to his friend's side, a look of shear excitement on his face. He knew that Lancroft would not disappoint. This might just be the opportunity that he was waiting for.

Holmes watched as Watson nodded a few times, a confused look forming on his face. Holmes was about to ask what was going on when Watson thrust the phone at him.

"Here." he said before returning to the couch.

Holmes stood there for a second, before putting the phone to his ear.

"Lancroft?" he cautioned.

"Holmes! My friend! It's been too long." Lancroft's voice was robust and joyful, quite like the man himself.

"Yes, yes it has been. What business brings you to our door?" straight to the point. No matter how dear the friend, Holmes wasn't in the mood to beat around the bush.

At the other end of the line, the detective sighed.

"Dirty business, Holmes, dirty business. Strange things are going about. A call came in about 3:30 this morning. A mad man, I tell you. There he goes laughing his head off, telling us he just committed a murder. We arrive at the scene of the crime, a mansion next to a lake, and there's no one there. No dead body, no signs of struggle, no nothing. Other than a tiny blood stain on the wall." the detective paused.

It was obvious, to Watson that the gears in Sherlock Holmes head were spinning. He knew that if Holmes accepted the case he would go along. Yet, he didn't want to.

"I see..." was all Holmes offered as a reply. He was deep in thought.

"So, Holmes… would you come over and take a look. A mind like yours is what we need."

"Of course I'll come, Lancroft. I shall leave as soon as possible."

With that the men bid their goodbyes.

"You're going?" Watson asked once Holmes was sitting back in his chair. He already knew the answer, of course.

"Yes."

Silence.

"Watson...it is not necessary for you to come along."

Watson laughed.

"Holmes, when the day comes when I leave you alone to go on a case as strange as this...may the angels curse me on that day."

Holmes replied with a huge grin.

"Then get packing my dear Watson!" with that said, Holmes sprang off to his room.

Watson sighed once his friend was out of sight. He had a bad feeling about this, but it might just have been his nerves. A few days ago he had had a high fever and his senses were all mixed up. The bad feeling that Watson was having in his gut could just have been a lingering side effect of the fever.

Reaching for his cane, Watson hoisted himself of the couch and headed towards his room.

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><p>"Watson, what did you pack for lunch?" Holmes asked as he sat down in the passenger seat. Taking out his book (Shogun), he opened it to a random page.<p>

"I hate the way you read, Holmes. What's the fun of reading a book from the middle, or the end? And I packed 1905 salad, bread, milk, and some fruit trifle." Watson watched as Holmes smiled at the mention of lunch. Fruit Trifle was Holmes favorite dessert, and the recipe for 1905 salad, was given to them by a very dear friend of theirs. The two men had known Laura Brook for many, many years. When Holmes had expressed his liking for the dish, she had quickly jotted down the recipe and had handed it to Watson.

"My dear Watson, my reason for reading like this is that I get to deduce what happens before the page I am currently reading."

Watson shook his head as he started the Prius. Holmes was his dear friend, but he might never be able to fully understand the man.

"Off we go." Watson mumbled, as he pulled the car into drive.

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><p><strong><span>A.N: I hope you enjoyed! Remember to review, and check my profile for updates.<span>**

** And BTW...would anyone care to BETA? **


	2. The Briefing

**A/N: Thanks to all the people who subscribed to story alert, and added this to their favorite story. Hope you all enjoy this chapter.**

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><p>The Briefing<p>

"Colwyn Bay Police Station..." Holmes entered the address into the GPS. Currently Watson was driving, and Holmes was getting directions of where to go from Daniel.

"It says that we'll be arriving in approximately five minutes." Holmes said into the phone.

"Turn right at point 'oh eight miles. Destination at left." the navigation spoke. The machines automaton voice still made Watson uncomfortable.

"Okay. I'll see you there." with that Holmes snapped his phone shut, and leaned into the seat, closing his eyes.

"Something wrong?" Watson asked as he parallel parked the car in front of the police station.

Holmes opened one eye.

"It's quite a strange case." was all the information he gave.

Watson sighed, and turned the car off. Did Holmes just realize that? The two friends sat in silence for a few minutes, contemplating the task at hand.

"Lancroft is waiting." Holmes said after a while. The two men got out of the car, and headed into the Police Station.

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><p>Colwyn Bay was a small town. The old Victorian style buildings stood humbly on the sides, backed up by magnificent trees, and breathtaking ocean. The roads had gone through many years of weathering The coastal town was a beautiful place. But at the moment Watson was distracted by the beauty. Inside a white marble building, Watson and Holmes stood by Daniel Lancroft's maple desk. About four feet seven in hight, the man could have been a Santa Claus doppelganger.<p>

"Holmes, my friend. It's been too long." The two men shook hands.

"Dr. Watson," The detective nodded toward him.

"Officer Lancroft," a nod back.

"So, Lancroft. I wasn't fully able to assess the case over the phone. Will you brief it again?" Holmes sat in one of the chairs in front of Lancroft's desk, and motioned for Watson to do the same.

"Yes, of course, Sherlock." The joyful look from the detective's face quickly vanished. Lancroft put on of his hands on his desk, and leaned against it. With a look of deep concentration he recited the event.

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><p>"It was around 3:30. I was the only one working in the office, along with Fitzgerald. I had taken the day off before, and had a lot of work to catch up to. Fitzgerald was just lagging. Doesn't like to go home, see? So I am just filing papers and the phone rings. You can imagine my shock. 3:30 in the morning and someone was calling in. I thought it was a wrong number, see? So I pick up the phone and answer with the usual, "Colwyn Bay Police Station. What's your emergency?" And the man on the other end, laughing, he is. So I think it's some prank call, see? I am about to hang up when he starts talking. Still laughing, he goes 'I just killed the Nutesella family. Every last one of them. Even little Timothy. I threw their bodies to the bottom of the lake.' He continues laughing. And I am shocked. The Nutesella family is one of the most honorable families of Colwyn bay, see? Always doing charity work, and helping us small folk out. And Timothy, poor poor Timothy, only two years old..." a silence ensured, in which Lancroft hung his head and closed his eyes.<p>

Sherlock let the man recover. He was too busy turning the case over in his head, to notice anyway. After a while Lancroft resumed his story telling.

"And then, and then the man goes, "I am done here. Please come and take me away. I am done with this life." and he's not laughing anymore. But I can't do anything, see? I was frozen. Couldn't really process it. I don't know why. I guess it was the man's voice. So joyful...and the laughter...Oh God." Lancroft visibly shivered. "From the pits of Hell, I tell you. Fitzgerald notices, comes and takes the phone. He actually dropped it, after listening. I don't know what came over him. Later he told me that the man had told him the same thing he had told me. But...I don't know...Anyways, Fitzgerald; he runs to his desk and calls up the police force. Tells them everything, and in the next second we get there: the mansion. Half the force goes into the house, and the rest we call in a search team and search the lake." In the next moment Lancroft's eyes glazed over.

"Daniel?" Holmes asked in his most compassionate voice. Watson was frozen in his seat. To him it seemed like the criminal had some sort of brain disorder.

"Daniel!" Holmes said, a little more forcefully.

"What?" the detective stumbled. It took him a few minutes to come back to reality. "Sorry, my friend, it's just that..." he sighed. "Where was I in the briefing?" he asked Holmes.

"A search team was searching the lake. Really, Daniel, you're only forty seven, why the memory loss?"

'Holmes can't be suspecting Lancroft can he?" Watson thought. He, himself, didn't know what to make of the case. 'We haven't heard the whole thing yet." He reminded himself. Watson tightened his grip on the arm rests of the chair.

Lancroft laughed. "You'd be shocked, Holmes. Once you hit your forties, your memory goes flying. Anyways, we called the search team, and we're searching the lake. No bodies. And the people who were searching the house come and report that no one's inside. Then I, myself, go and take a look. There was no sign of struggle or anything. No blood stains or anything. Then I enter the living. I've been to the Nutesella mansion before, see? And it looked different to me. The arrangement of the furniture, I mean. So I go about moving the sofa and drawers. Behind one of them was this..." again, Lancroft stopped. This time he looked distressed. He ran a hand through his white hair.

"At first It didn't look like there was anything, see? But then I noticed that there was this mark, about ten centimeters wide and twelve centimeters long. It was a dark spot, that's why it caught my attention, see? The wall is a dark blue, but that part looked almost black. I had never seen that before. The Nutesella house was flawless, see? So I call in a forensic, and get him to check it out. Dried blood. The only evidence we found. The man who had called was not there. When we came back to the station and traced the number, turned out that it was from the phone in the living. We did a DNA testing of the blood, and it turned out that it didn't belong to any one from the Nutesella family. We don't know what to think."

Sherlock Holmes was smiling like no tomorrow. It was certainly an interesting case. It was just what he was hoping for. In his mind he had already formed an hypothesis. The only thing Holmes needed now was to visit the crime scene. As for Watson, he was at a a complete loss.

"I would love to help you. I think I got it figured out. The general idea, of course. I just need to see the crime scene. And of course, I want to talk to Mr. Fitzgerald." Holmes eyes were sparkling.

Watson shook his head.

"Okay, Mr. Holmes. I can arrange both for you. Actually, if you want, Fitzgerald should be coming to duty in an hour. Would you like to wait, till then? And as for the visit to the crime scene, that can be arranged any time you want."

Sherlock nodded.

"I will wait. And I would like to visit the mansion as soon as I am done with interviewing Fitzgerald."

Lancroft nodded, and left to go make a call. After he had left, Holmes turned to Watson.

"What do you think about the case?" he asked nonchalantly

"It's quite...interesting." I answered hesitantly.

Holmes closed his eyes.

"Interesting yes, but quite simple...there is one a few things left...I think...yes..."

"Simple?" came Watson's incredulous reply. He ignored the rest of Holmes rumblings.

"My friend, you have been with my for many years. Think deeply about what Daniel just told us. There is nothing new under the sun, remember that always." by Holmes tone it was obvious that he wanted sometime by himself.

Watson retreated. He dropped all his questions, and mulled over what Holmes had just told him. It occurred to Watson that the real mystery here was not the murder. No...the real mystery was far from the supposed murder case.

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><p><strong><span>AN: How'd you guys like chapter two? Please review, and check my profile for updates. **


	3. Confused Thoughts

**A/N: This chapter was written for the sole purpose of introducing another character, and underhandedly giving the whole story away. It's a bunch of nothing until you reach the end. So with that said, I hope you enjoy the next installment to Blood Tears.**

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><p><strong><span>The men enjoyed a quick lunch before Detective Fitzgerald arrived. He was a tall man, his blond head scraping the ceiling as he entered the police station. His features were that of an Englishman, a pointy nose, light blue sharp set eyes and porcelain skin. At first Detective Fitzgerald didn't notice Holmes and Watson. He walked in, hung up his brown duster and hat on a hat stand near the entrance, and walked mechanically to his desk. Watson shot a quizzical look towards Lancroft.<span>**

The older man cleared his throat, and called out to his colleague.

"Fitzgerald."

The young man looked up, a startled expression on his face.

"Detective Lancroft, I didn't think anyone would be here today..." the man's voice faltered as he noticed that he and his fellow worker were not the only ones present in the building. His gaze turned calculating.

A smile formed on Holmes lips.

"Sherlock Holmes. I am here by call from Detective Lancroft." Then pointing his hand at Watson he exclaimed, "And this is my partner ." Watson offered Fitzgerald a nod.

"Fitzgerald, Xander." Holmes sensed distrust form the man."You're here for the Nutesella case." a statement.

"Yes. And now that you're here, I can finally start my investigation."

Perspiration spotted Fitzgerald's forehead.

"What could you possibly ask of me?" despite the uneasy look on his face, the young detective's voice came out loud and clear.

"Did you not talk to the supposed criminal over the phone?"

Fitzgerald nodded.

"Then you are a witness, and in order to perform a thorough investigation all witnesses need to be questioned. Surely, you as a able police man, know that?"

Watson didn't understand why Holmes was playing along. Normally, he would have just launched into questioning.

Fitzgerald failed to respond.

"Then shall be begin?" Holmes put his right ankle on this left knee, and held his chin in his hand. Leaning forward he asked "Why did you stay at the office past duty hours?"

The victims lip twitched. By the look on his face it was clear what his dilemma was. But why should he lie? Watson wondered. Unless he was related to the murderer?

"I had work I needed to do," after a pause he added "and I don't like going home that much."

With eyes afire Sherlock Holmes jumped to the next question.

"Why is that?" Before Xander could reply, Holmes answered his own question.

"Maybe because you were sentenced a three year sentence in prison for the murder of a Mary Ann Joseph, and every time you return home, you are burdened by that fact."

Watson's eyes widened and he turned to Lancroft, who, in turn, closed his eyes.

All the composure that Fitzgerald had mustered up, fell.

"It was an accident..." his whisper was barely audible.

Holmes smiled. "Driving while under the influence. Yes I know. I read of your case in the London-ear. My reason for bringing this up, my good man, is that you can trust us. No one is pointing fingers at you...yet. If you continue your behavior, you might actually get a life sentence."

Understanding flied Watson and Fitzgerald both.

The young officer nodded, and took a seat. Poor him, he'd been standing this whole time. Watson left to get him a glass of water.

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened." Holmes said once Fitzgerald has regained his cool.

And thus, Fitzgerald's account began.

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><p>"I am sorry for everything. I was just worried that I would be convicted again...I just..." Xander Fitzgerald put his head in his hands.<p>

"My good man, faith is a wonderful thing." Holmes smiled at him. "Now if you please," he turned to Lancroft, "I would like to have some time by myself."

The older man nodded, and Holmes walked away.

"Fitzgerald, you should get some rest. I know you arrived a whole ago, but these few minutes have taken a great toll on you." Lancroft eyed his colleague with concern.

The other detective nodded and left with a "I'll be back in a while."

A few minutes after his departure, Lancroft turned to Watson and stared at him expectantly.

"Your account and Fitzgerald's was very similar. Everything lined up...instead of one." Watson hesitantly started.

Lancroft nodded his head. A skill that Watson had learned over the years was that hearing the facts out loud made it much easier to make sense of them, and that's why, he knew, Lancroft was turning to him.

"You said that the Nutesella family was an honorable family. But when Fitzgerald spoke of them...he sounded bitter."

"Mary Jane Joseph was Lorenzo Nutesella's daughter from his mistress...he's the one that put Xander behind bars."

Watson couldn't help but chuckle.

"I am not so sure about you...but my brain is boggled. I don't understand anything..."

"Do you think Holmes will be able to come up with something?" Lancroft knew of Holmes genius, but there was still doubt on his face.

"I would bet all my money that Holmes has almost figured everything out. He just needs to see the crime scene." In truth, Watson was just consoling Lancroft.

The detective smiled, and leaned into his chair.

"I greatly appreciate this Watson," with that said Lancroft closed his eyes.

Watson sat there for a few minutes, taking the sight of his fellow detective in. After a while, when Lancroft started to snore, Watson laughed, and got up from his seat.

"With a case like this, any one would be sleep-deprived." With the thought of stretching his legs and exploring the town (and possibly finding Holmes) Watson left the station.

_At the time he didn't know that this act would set a series of unfortunate events into place._

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><p><strong><span>I know some of you may not be happy with this chapter, neither am I really, but it was crucial to the story to have it told like this.<span>**

** Reviews are always appreciated.**


	4. Fresh Air

**A/N: Hey Everyone, sorry for the long wait, but here it is! Hope you enjoy! **

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><p><strong><em>Fresh Air <em>**

Watson wandered around the town aimlessly; his hands jammed into his pants pockets. The wind was picking up and the sound of rustling leaves was quite comforting. Needless to say, he was enjoying himself. Humming to the sound of his shoes clicking against the gravel pavements of the almost marble town, Watson looked left and right searching for his dear friend.

He walked past the bakery, resisting the urge to go in and raid the store, its aroma too tempting, and the post office, a few restaurants and row and rows of houses. He walked past supermarkets, and dodged many tourists but alas there was no sign of Holmes.

Watson was about to give up and go back to the station, when he bumped into someone.

Watson opened his mouth to apologize, but the man, quite short and with a limp in his step, hurried past.

"Strange folks," he thought as he resumed walking.

On his way back to the police station, he did visit the bakery.

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><p>"Where have you been, Watson?"<p>

Watson looked towards Lancroft's desk to see Holmes leaning over and explaining some type of documents to the detective.

"Walking around town looking for you," accusation was clear in his voice, no matter how playful.

"I took a trip to the bank." His friend flashed the papers, now Watson noticed that they were bank statements, at him.

"Oh. Okay." Watson walked over, and placed the fruit trifle on Lancroft's desk. The twitch of Holmes lips did not go unnoticed.

"So you see, Lancroft, where I am coming from?" The two men continued their conversation, making no move to include Watson.

"Yes, Holmes..." the detective scrunched his eyebrows, "but I still think it's a little farfetched."

"Any idea what they're talking about?" Fitzgerald came up from behind Watson and asked.

With a slight jump, Watson turned around and laughed uneasily.

"Not the slightest."

Fitzgerald nodded.

"Listen, Daniel. When you called me you said that this was one of the most complicated cases you've had. Now, the answer should be as complicated and strange, shouldn't it?" Holmes answered Lancroft calmly.

"But...to suggest this...it's hard to digest."

"Remember the case in the States, the one of the Menendez brothers? This case is quite similar, with only a few twists."

Daniel Lancroft failed to come up with an answer.

"Now if we are done bickering, shall we leave to the crime scene?" Holmes straightened up, folded the papers and placed them in his back pocket.

"I have the car waiting outside." Fitzgerald informed the two detectives.

By the expressions on their faces, it seemed as if Holmes and Lancroft had forgotten that Watson and Fitzgerald were there. The tense atmosphere, which had built up during their short and clipped conversation, reached its peak and all four men cracked smiles, none quite ready to speak.

"I am sorry Holmes, this case is really stressing."

"Quite understandable. That's why I say that we get this over with as soon as possible." Sherlock walked past Fitzgerald, tapped Watson on the shoulder, reached the door and declared

"I shall be waiting with the cabbie." and left the building.

"You should go as well Xander, Watson. I'll gather my papers and come."

The men nodded and hurried out.

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><p>Holmes was resting his elbows on the hood of the cab, his hand across his face. His thumb reached the bottom of his jaw, and his index finger rested at his glabella. His eyes were closed, and his forehead scrunched.<p>

Watson smiled, as seeing Holmes perplexed was quite rare.

"Is he alright?" Fitzgerald nudged Watson.

"Yes. Just thinking." Watson had seen this pose many times.

With a nod of his head, he headed up to talk to the cabbie and Watson headed towards Holmes.

"What's the matter now?"

"Just wondering if Mrs. Hudson repaired my violin."

Watson pursed his lips, but didn't comment. His stomach was doing three sixties and he didn't know why.

When Lancroft finally came out, the men gathered into the taxi, and drove off.

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><p>Watson didn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't what he came across. His first impression was the Parthenon. Then he looked closer and saw that he was mistaken, and that the Nutesella manor looked more like the White House in the States. Yes, that was the way to describe it. Endless windows, he counted twenty five on the second floor, and gleaming white marble steps, sleek mahogany double doors with golden knobs and an air to it that made it clear the extent of the money probably sitting in the Nutesella vault. There were pedestals that seemed to hold up the roof, also painted in a shiny coating of white. The lawn was mowed, and flowers adorned the entrance. From the drive way that circled around the front door of the house, Watson could see the lake, it's murky waters holding a terrible secret. A quick one-two of the house revealed a stone pathway that led to a gazebo, far into the distance. Bushes adorned the sides of the pathway. It was a beautiful view. But they were not here to admire the scenery. The thought only made Watson more uncomfortable. He didn't understand however. He was a man of war and had been with Holmes for years, so why the uncomfortable feeling?<p>

"Well, here you are, the Nutesella Manor." Lancroft declared as the men clambered out of the car, seeing as they were all jammed into the back seat. Desperate measures had to be taken in desperate situations.

While Fitzgerald was paying the cabbie, Holmes announced his game plan.

"I will like to search the house, with no restrictions, on my own."

Daniel had no choice but to consent.

Lancroft and Holmes were very dear friends, but human nature did not permit Daniel to fully give the case over to Holmes and let him take all the glory for solving it.

"Oh and Lancroft, did you bring along the equipment that I asked?"

"It's with Fitzgerald," Lancroft replied.

"May you please fetch it?"

With a nod Daniel left to get whatever Holmes had asked for.

"Watson, do you have a revolver on you?" Holmes asked after their detective friend had left.

To say he was shocked would be an understatement. Holmes question only deepened Watson's feeling of unease.

"Uh...yeah, I always bring it with me." Days of serving in the war had caused a little paranoia.

"Good. Keep it close." Holmes replied, while his eyes took in the area around him.

At the same moment as Lancroft came back, a brief case in hand, accompanied by Fitzgerald, Holmes took off.

His first stop was the door. He climbed up the stairs and knocked on the huge doors, placing his ear on the door. The tactics of a madman, but who ever said that Holmes was sane? No one questioned his methods.

He then retreated to where the other three men were standing, in the circular driveway. Without saying a word to them, he walked over to the lake, pausing after each stride to stare at the ground. Holmes did this many times.

If Watson recalled correctly, he had done the same thing in their first case together.

After he was done with whatever he was doing, he walked up to Lancroft

"Is the door opened?"

"No, give me a second." Lancroft rummaged in his pockets for the key. After a moment he pulled out an old fashioned key and handed it to Holmes, along with the case. Holmes, in turn, handed the case to Watson.

"If you don't mind will you and Fitzgerald wait by the main gate, while Watson and I take a look inside?"

Again, Lancroft had no choice but to consent.

Holmes gestured for Watson to follow and the two men walked into the ill-fated manor. Watson tried not to drag his feet.

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><p>The inside was as grand as the outside. High ceiling, a huge crystal chandelier, midnight blue paint, a million dark brown doors, and a soft red for a carpet. Swords lined the walls on one side, and the other side had a portrait for every member of the grand family. Expensive vases lined the corners. It was hard to believe that a murder had been committed here.<p>

The two partners visited every room, taking their time in examining the walls, furniture and decor. Holmes even looked under the rugs.

When they got to the living room, Holmes took the case from Watson and opened it on the floor.

Inside were assortments of instruments. Small tubes of acid were the simplest materiel presented in the case. There were multiple beakers and a variety of small knifes. There were scrapers, and some sort of base material. Sponges were also present in the case.

Watson had no idea when or how Holmes had got his hand on such a package.

Holmes saw Watson looking and smiled, as he wiped a knife clean with a handkerchief.

"I am going to unearth the carpet." He informed Watson with a maniac gleam in his eyes.

Watson nodded and started to grab a knife, when he noticed all the furniture. Holmes followed his gaze and his smile dropped.

Watson assumed that in all his excitement he forgot about the furniture. He couldn't help but smile at Holmes childishness.

The men got to work. They moved all the furniture out, and then each grabbed a knife and went to opposing sides of the room, and started to cut off the ties of the carpet and floor.

In about half an hour the wonderful green carpet was sitting in the hall. What they had discovered, however, was more concerning.

Holmes looked pleased, but Watson couldn't wrap the idea around his head. His stomach continued to whirl around.

They had discovered a red carpet, one that matched the one in the hall perfectly.

When he had first entered the room, Watson had wondered why the carpet was different in the room, but then again, what do you expect from rich people? Now he understood the scenario a little better. Despite that, he couldn't help but ask,

"What is this, Holmes?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson. If you look closely at that spot right there, where the stain is, and then follow the spot downward, you will see something that Lancroft and his forensic missed. A trail of blood, about a centimeter thick. It reaches to the floor, come on my good man, surely you see it?"

And indeed Watson did.

"Now then," Holmes continued, "if you look at the original carpet you will notice that the spot right next to the wall is a darker red than the rest of the carpet..." Holmes let Watson finish.

"More blood." the words were forced out of his mouth.

"Yes."

The two man stood in there spots for a moment.

"But then...how did the new carpet..."

"All in good time, my dear Watson." Holmes cut off his question. "Will you fetch me two beakers, a scraper, the white sponge, and a bottle of acid?" He asked after a while.

Without responding Watson carried out the task.

In one swift movement Holmes was at the wall, taking samples of the blood. After filling a beaker with the dried chips, he proceed by pouring the acid on the white sponge. Holmes then dabbed the wall with the sponge and slid it down, following the trail of the blood.

The acid burned the paint, and a white wall came up. Once Holmes was content with whatever he was doing, he squeezed the sponge out into the other beaker.

All the time Watson was fidgeting, his bad feeling growing.

Holmes only noticed this after he had finished packing his equipment.

"Are you alright, Watson?" he asked, concern vivid on his face.

"Yeah...just a little uneasy. Fresh air is all I need."

Then let us go take a walk in the garden. I am done with my work, anyway."

Watson nodded and followed Holmes outside.

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><p><strong><span>Liked it? Thought it could be better? Please review and tell me! <span>**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**** Sorry for the delay, somethings came up. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy..even though it seems a little rushed**

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><p>As soon as Watson stepped outside the house, and onto the soft cushion of grass, the spinning in his head stopped. Of course, he should have known that there was a reason behind why Holmes agreed so quickly to come outside. He had to examine the lake. Watson stood by, lost in his thoughts as Holmes paced the lake a few times. The usual on goings. What pulled Watson out of his thoughts, though, was when a splash of water soaked him. Holmes was nowhere to be seen.<p>

"Jesus Christ!" Watson sprinted to the bay of the lake, and shook his head in wonder, as he saw Holmes at the bottom of the lake, pulling at the seaweed.

Watson stood there for a moment, staring down into the lake, it's waters, at the moment, so clear that he could see to the bottom. As he stood there he saw Holmes gasp, and then quickly scramble to the surface.

"By Jove, Watson! This is by far the most interesting case I've had." Holmes exclaimed, a grin on his face. In his hand he held a bundle of seaweed.

Shaking his head, Watson stretched his hand out and helped Holmes out.

To say that Fitzgerald and Lancroft were shocked, would be an understatement. As Holmes and Watson approached the two men, they sputtered out lousy exclamations of worry.

"Holmes! Wha...What...What happened?" the two said in union.

The only answer Holmes had to offer was a smirk. He currently had Watson's jacket draped over his soaked cloths.

"You're going to catch a cold." Watson had told him sternly, when he had refused to exchange his wet clothes for new, dry ones.

"Don't worry my friend," Holmes addressed Lancroft, "This is merely part of my day's work. The last part of the investigation is strolling through the lovely garden. I ask that you men accompany me. "Water dripped from his wet hair.

After a few hurried exchanges, Fitzgerald and Lancroft agreed. Upon seeing Holmes madness, they were not to eager to participate in his investigation.

* * *

><p>The garden was as splendid as the rest of the house. The fact that it contained a miniture forest, right behind the gazebo, amazed Watson.<p>

Just as he stepped onto the soft bed of moved grass, Holmes elbowed him in the ribs, and the hilt of Watson's gun jabbed him. Holmes nodded in approval, his eyebrows scrunched.

They started walking on the gravel path, Lancroft and Fitzgerald behind them.

"So what have you thought about so far, Holmes?" Watson asked, as he noticed Holmes tapping the ground with his heels as he walked.

"The man is six foot five. He is broad in built and has a missing front tooth. He was not responsible for any murder, but is responsible for kidnapping." His eyes were taking in the landscape, without really holding onto anything.

"Kidnapping?..You mean the man who called the station...was kidnapped?" Watson asked shocked.

"Oh no, he was killed. The youngest member of the Nutesella family..Timothy...I think it was...he was kidnapped."

In order to avoid stuttering, Watson did not reply right away.

"So you mean to say..." but he never got the chance to finish.

The next few moments were a blur. There was a sharp cracking sound in the air, quite like the sound of a gun.

Holmes pushed Watson to the floor, who in turn dragged Fitzgerald and Lancroft with him. Holmes had brandished a gun from somewhere, and even though his arm was bleeding severely, he dodged the bullets and shot, inching back to shelter.

Regaining sense of what was going on in a minute, Fitzgerald, too, swung a gun from it's holster, and his back to Holmes shot randomly into the bushes. Holmes by this moment had moved behind a conveniently placed rock, and Watson was trying to drag Lancroft to safety. Clearly, in all his years as an officer, he had never actually been on the field.

There was shouting all around, muffled voices could be heard, and the crack of gunfire. What made it worse was that he knew Holmes was out there, but he couldn't do anything, as Lancroft lay limp in his arms. All he could do was depend on Fitzgerald.

The next thing he remembered was a pain back of his head and the blackness, the blackness that still clouded his eyes today.

He woke up to Fitzgerald sweaty face laced with distress, an inch away from his own.

At once he knew...

"Holmes!" he cried as he shot up.

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><p><strong><span>AN: I hoped you all liked it. Remember to review. **


	6. Hollow

Fitzgerald was screaming into the phone as Lancroft helped Watson tie Holmes wounds.

"There. That'll hold the bleeding for now." Lancroft said. His voice was a little shaky, but a pleased smile rested on his face.

Watson didn't dare speak, for fear that his voice would give him away. His white shirt had gone red with Holmes blood. Thankfully the bullets had missed his major organ, but his injuries were severe. If he wasn't treated soon...well Watson did not want to think about it.

Lancroft stared at Watson's passive face, before patting him on the back, giving him a soft smile, and leaving to join Fitzgerald.

Watson sat by the lake, Holmes limp head in his lap. In the end he couldn't do anything to help his friend.

"I should have known," Watson thought as he stared onto Holmes unusually passive face. "I should have known that something was wrong."

Hadn't he been feeling uneasy ever since the call? Hadn't Holmes asked him if he had his revolver on hand? Hadn't Holmes been acting strangely tense?

All these thoughts ran through Watson's head and he couldn't do anything other than blame himself.

A trickle of water fell onto Holmes face that was not Watson's tears. In a few mere seconds it began to pour.

"Damn!" Watson cussed under his breath as he scrambled for something to cover his good friend with.

Luckily. Lancroft had not forgotten about him. He came running through the pouring rain, shouting on the top of his lungs.

"Get in the house."

Watson would have, if he were able to lift Holmes by himself. He sat in the rain, his body leaned over Holmes's, to keep him from getting wet.

Even though it only took Lancroft a few minutes to reach Watson, it felt like hours.

Soon Watson was re-bandaging Holmes in the Nutesella living room. Fitzgerald and Lancroft were off somewhere discussing methods of getting Holmes back to London.

This much wait was not good, Watson knew that much. And even though he wanted to voice his concerns he could not find his voice.

"A 'copter from the London national hospital will arrive soon." a hand rested on Watson's shoulder that startled him.

It was Fitzgerald.

Watson just nodded. The sooner they got back to London the better.

When the sound of the helicopter's blades could be heard from the mansion, Fitzgerald ran to the living room (Lancroft had gone back to the station). What he found made him stop in mid-run.

Watson had fallen still crouched next to the couch. He was holding Holmes's hand.

Instead of waking him up, Fitzgerald decided to carry him to the copter.

* * *

><p>When Watson woke up he was in an unfamiliar room. His thoughts were a little fuzzy, but by the look of things he could tell that he was in a hospital.<p>

It took a moment before he realized that Holmes was missing.

* * *

><p>"LAURA!" Dawson screamed.<p>

From her spot on her bed she went running to the living room.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she caught her breath.

From his spot in the couch he pointed to the t.v screen.

Pushing her light brown hair aside, Laura saw a very familiar face on the screen.

Her legs turned to jelly and she fell to the floor.


	7. Reunion

**_Reunion_**

Watson groaned as he got out of bed, his bones creaking. As soon as he stood up, the world around him began to spin. It took him a while to regain his balance.

For a moment he wondered who could have brought him to the hospital, and exactly which hospital he was in, but his questions were replaced by concern for Holmes.

Leaning against the wall, he walked himself to the door and out. He got his answer to where he was when he saw who was waiting for him.

"John!" Mary cried, as she ran to him. Before he knew it, he was in her tight embrace, his eyes looking down at her disheveled blond hair. Quickly, she was sobbing, her head rested in the crook of his shoulder.

"Mary..." he managed to choke out, before Mary realized that he was going to collapse. Taking his arm, she placed it around her shoulder and guided him to the nearest chair. Sitting down, she turned to him and gave him a sad smile.

"How are you feeling now, John?" she asked him, her voice a mere hush.

Watson inclined his head towards her, to show that he was okay. Then he asked,

"Where's Holmes?..."

The sad smile disappeared, and Mary turned her head away. Watson knew that he should be worried, but the anesthetic that they had given him, was making him drowsy.

"Where's Holmes?..." he asked again, his voice a little slurred.

Mary decided to change tactics.

"You should be resting, John. Let me take you to your room."

* * *

><p>"Who are you here to see?" The nurse around the counter asked Dawson.<p>

"Holmes, Sherlock," He responded, his eyes whizzing around the lobby, taking in every detail. He and Laura had just come back from San Diego, and were waiting at a hotel, for someone to the agency to contact them, when he saw the news. At first he didn't recognize him. After all, he had never thought that Holmes would end up like that. The man was cunning, and unless he wanted to get gutted by bullets, there was no way the face on the t.v could be his. But then, there was no mistaking it. Holmes had a distinct face that made it hard to forget him. He stood out, no matter what disguise. And then, because he was a total retard, he had called Laura. Defiantly a move worthy of Sherlock Holmes, he had thought dryly, as he comforted the crying woman.

The lobby of London General Hospital was crowded, to say the least. If it wasn't reporters, it was news cameras. If it wasn't news cameras it was a herd of puking patients. It smelled the way hospitals usually smell, like a bunch of antibiotics and sterilizers. If Dawson wasn't so worried, he would have puked himself. He hated the way hospitals smelled more than anything...well after a decaying body of course.

To say that the case in San Diego had scarred Dawson would be an understatement. A man had gone and dug up the graves of three children, only to eat their bodies.

Dawson felt his stomach churn and he grabbed the edges of the counter until his knuckles went white.

"He's in the ER sir, I can't let you go up there. But if you want, you can wait in the waiting room."

It took Dawson a moment to realize that the nurse was talking to him.

"Oh...okay" He stuffed his hands into his jeans. "How 'bout Watson, John?" he asked.

While the nurse typed away, Dawson fiddled with his straw colored hair. He tugged at it, and ruffled it, signs of nervousness. For a while the nurse stopped typing and stared at him. He stared back at her with his green eyes.

"May I get your name, and your relationship with the patient, sir?" she asked.

"Dawson, Leonard. I am a friend..."

"I.D?"

He presented her with his police badge. Her lips formed into a little "o," and she told him that he was in room 315.

"Thank You." Dawson said, as he turned around and walked towards the waiting room.

* * *

><p>Mary had just finished telling Watson about everything that had happened. She remembered to add that Lancroft was the one who had informed her.<p>

"So, where is Holmes, now?" He asked.

Watson was laying down on the hospital bed, and Mary was sitting on the chair next to the bed.

"Oh John," Mary breathed, as she pushed his hair out of his eyes. "He's in the emergency room..."

Watson wasn't shocked. Obviously he was in the ER. But then, wasn't he the one constantly asking where Holmes was?

"Have the doctor's said anything?" was his next question.

Mary shook her head. Watson sighed and tried to sit up. Mary wouldn't let him.

They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. In the end, the were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Mary answered.

"WATSON!" Both Dawson and Laura cried at the same time.

Out of everything that was going on, seeing Dawson and Laura surprised him the most. They hadn't changed at all. Same old Dawson, a mop of straw hair that could never be tamed, and those piercing green eyes, that made you want to pour your heart out to him. He stood towering in the door, the top of his head scraping the door frame. Laura hadn't changed either. She stood compacted in the door frame. Her arms were crossed against her chest, and she stood stiff. Her brown hair curled onto her shoulders, and her hazel eyes were unreadable.

Watson still remembered the last time they had worked together. It was the case of the missing crown jewels. Holmes' had gotten a kick out of that one.

"What are you two doing here? Weren't you in San Diego?" he asked.

"Came back an hour ago," Dawson grinned at him.

Laura nodded.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Considerably better," The real question loomed in the air, Watson being unable to answer.

"Don't worry. He'll pull through. He's Sherlock Holmes. You expect the man to die, and he comes at you with the energy of a man on twenty gallons of coffee." Dawson was the one to break the silence.

Watson grinned and Laura laughed. It was good to see them again.

The four of them had just started to enter a normal conversation. The doctors had perfect timing.

"Dr. Watson?" Dr. Salvatore knocked on the open door. He was the one in charge of Holmes' surgery.

Everyone turned to face the doctor.

"Yes, doctor?" Watson asked.

"If you don't mind, can I talk to you alone? It involves your friend, Mr. Holmes."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: The part about the man digging up graves and eating the bodies, is a true story...**_

_**and hopefully you all enjoyed the chapter. Remember to review**_


	8. The News

_**A/N: Sorry that it's such a short chapter**_

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><p><span>The News <span>

Watson shot one last glance at his friends in the room, before Dr. Salvatore closed the door on them. The smiling faces were now solemn, with forced smiles. Before Watson could speak, Dr. Salvatore did.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Considerably better..." Watson waited for the doctor to continue. As the silence stretched longer, the white walls closed in on Watson, and he found it hard to breathe.

"How's Holmes? What's wrong?" He finally choked out, dreading the answer.

A sigh. Not only was Dr. Salvatore a doctor, he was also a close friend.

"Your binding saved him, Watson, but the case is that he's lost a substantial amount of blood. We need a transfer as soon as possible."

Watson's hand found the railings on the wall. He gripped them until his knuckles went white.

"What's the problem?" despite his shaky demeanor, his voice was as steady as could be.

"As you would have it, Holmes is an AB-...and well...usually any type of blood would do, but the guns have penetrated some serious places, and we're worried that they'll cause an infection if the blood isn't the same...and at the moment we don't have any AB- in the blood bank...but,"

Watson had stopped listening. The situation would have been comedic. AB-? It was like something out of a novel. But then again, this was Holmes they were talking about. Having the rarest blood type would suit the man. Watson was sure that the moment he woke up, he would have a laugh about it.

Yes, Watson reassured himself. When he woke up. Not if. Strange, what a difference a mere word could make.

"so if you consent to it, we could make the transfer."

"Excuse me?" Watson had completley tuned out and now he didn't know what was going on.

"Watson, your an AB- too. But your not a signed blood donor. But if you consent to it, we can get the forms in five minutes, have all the paper work done in less than that, and proceed to the transfer."

He was an AB-? What a coincidence. God was playing games with him. After all, what doctor didn't know his own blood type. Apparently, the answer to that is Dr. Watson.

"Doctor, I am surprised you even had to ask."

Dr. Salvatore's shoulders sagged, and he let out a deep breath. A huge burden had just been lifted from his shoulders.

"Nurse Kelly will get you the papers. The operation will start as soon as everything is prepared. You have about half an' hour." Dr. Salvatore patted Watson on the arm before walking away.

Half an hour to prepare himself.

Watson shook himself. This was Holmes life at stake. Holmes, his brother. He would do anything for Holmes. And anyways, blood transfusions weren't harmful. Rarely, they went wrong. Well, considering their luck, that wasn't much reassurance.

Watson stood outside his door for a few minutes. Finally pulling himself together, he turned the door and walked in.

"What's the matter?" Laura asked as soon as Watson stepped in. Dawson's eyes were clouded, and Mary was looking at him, worry written all over her face.

Watson sighed as he closed the door behind him, and leaned against it. He then proceeded to bring his thumb and index finger to his glabella.

"Holmes needs a blood transfusion, and I am going to be donating blood to him." He looked up expecting Mary's shocked face, but instead he was faces with twinkling eyes and the most love filled fact you could imagine. Dawson also looked revealed. Was he expecting more...disturbing news?

"In how much time?" Laura asked, her face expressionless.

"Dr. Salvatore said in about half an' hour..." Watson had only finished speaking when there was a knock on the door.

Watson opened it to find Nurse Kelly. She clutched a bunch of papers.

"The mandatory paperwork, sir." she said.

"Well then, come in."

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><p><em><strong>AN: Hoped you enjoyed and remember to review :D**_

_**Next update by January 28**_

_**xThanks For Readingx **_


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: **_**Hey Guys, it's been a while. I know that the update took longer than I said, but some things came up. Also this chapter is kind of short, so sorry about that, but it's really a transition chapter. I didn't go into the details about the surgery, because frankly, research could only go so far. Despite everything, I hope that you all enjoy. **

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><p>Watson's pen hung over the paper. He had filled in every box on the paper work, all he had to do was sign his name. Despite knowing that this was Holmes' only hope, Watson couldn't being himself to sign the paper. Not because he was afraid for himself, but because he was afraid for Holmes. Knowing the fact that he was the string that tied Holmes to his life, he wouldn't be able to accept it if the operation failed. Behind him, Mary gripped his shoulder. Laura and Dawson had gone out to get them all something to eat.<p>

"Watson, have faith," she whispered. Faith. He had had faith that this would be just another case. He had had faith that Holmes would be okay, despite his gut feeling. But having faith hadn't done him any good.

But Holmes had known. He had known that there were people following them. That there had been people hiding in the bushes. Somehow Holmes' had known.

And he had saved him. It could have been Watson laying on his death bed. Bit it wasn't. And Watson owed Holmes at least this much.

Watson sighed, and held on for the last time. Bringing his pen tip to the paper, Watson swiftly signed.

* * *

><p>He was on a stretcher now, pins stuck all over his body. They were rolling him into the ICU, where Holmes was already strapped down. Watson's breath was coming out shaky, which was was a little unbecoming, being that he was a doctor. But of course, he was a human first.<p>

Watson wished he could shake his head, for his mind was going off in all directions. But if he shook his head all the wires would get messed up.

Even though he couldn't see her, Watson knew that Mary was walking along side the stretcher.

Doing the best he could Watson smiled, and in another moment the shutter of doors opening rang in his ears.

* * *

><p>The last thing Watson saw before he was out cold was 's face, mouthing the words "hang in." The last thing he heard was the pinging of the machine that was measuring Holmes' heart beat.<p>

The stench of blood was in the air.

* * *

><p>The first thing he noticed was that instead of one pinging sound, there were two. That meant that both of them had lived. Watson took a moment to thank god.<p>

Then he noticed how his hand was being pressured. Then as his senses came back, he slowly realized that he didn't mind. The pressure was focused to the center of his palm, and then to the sides of the back of his hand. This led Watson to think that someone was holding his hand. Then as his thoughts set into place, he realized that the hand was Mary's.

Watson's eyes fluttered open, and Mary, Laura, and Dawson took shape in front of him. Laura was leaning against the wall, on Holmes' side of the room, Dawson was against the door, and Mary was by his bed.

"Mary...is..." Watson couldn't finish his sentence. His strength failed him, and he shut his mouth, hoping that Mary understood.

The woman in question turned to look at him and smiled.

"He's alright. The surgery was over rather quickly. What took the most time was stitching Holmes' wounds."

"Why was I still kept here?" not that Watson minded, but when something like this happened, Doctors tended to remove the second patient from the room, as to not harm them.

At his question Mary pursed her lips. Watson proceeded to look at Laura and Dawson, both of whom looked away. Realizing that he wasn't going to get an answer, Watson gave up. Now that he could freely move his head, Watson turned to his side to look at his friend.

Holmes was sleeping, he could tell by the slow rise and fall of his chest. Holmes' eyebrows were scrunched together, his thoughts still going berserk, even in his sleep. His hands were folded on his stomach, and even though the saying is that people look younger when they sleep, Holmes' face was haggard.

"Mary...my head is spinning..." Watson didn't take his eyes off of Holmes.

"It must be the medicine. You should rest Watson. You need it." With a kiss to his cheek, Mary stood up and walked out the room. Dawson followed, pausing for a minute at the door to smile at Watson. Laura nodded as she too walked out of the room.

Watson was still staring at Holmes when he fell back into sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you all like this chapter. It's not much I know, but hopefully the next chapter will be better. <strong>

Remember to review :D


	10. Bloody Mornings

**_Bloody Mornings _**

He wasn't used to his head spinning. In the darkness shapeless objects floated around and voices screamed. Holmes wasn't pleased. He liked his head as calm as it could be. Screaming voices and floating objects really did not help one's thought process.

However what bothered Holmes the most was not the floating objects, but how numb his body was. His couldn't open his eyelids and his body felt as if it were carrying a ton of dead weight. His hands and legs were stiff and his nose was itching. Holmes struggled to raise his hand in order to rid himself of the itch, but alas, he was paralyzed.

Well...he wasn't paralyzed in its literal terms, but his thought process and his body were disconnected.

Very slowly, almost as if it were mocking him, the darkness began to fade and his eyelids no longer felt like two ton steel wedges.

If he were capable of talking at the time, a stream of profanities would have surely been emitting from Sherlock Holmes mouth. As the darkness mocked him, the light did worse. As soon as his eyes were fully opened, the white florescent lights blinded him and Holmes wished he could scream. Everything was jarring his scenes now. The beeping of some god forsaken machine was driving him mad and the wretched stench of antibiotics made him want to rip his nose off.

And then there was the sensation that someone was ogling him. As his senses came to match his thoughts, a shiver ran down Holmes spin.

Slowly opening his eyes, as to save himself from the light, Holmes realized that he was in pain. It was like someone was poking his sides. Holmes didn't pay much attention to it. However, as the numbness was fading, a sudden stab of pain hit his body causing him to jerk up.

* * *

><p>Watson woke up to the sound of someone dying. Or at least that's what it sounded like. The person was coughing and their coughing wouldn't stop. Nonchalantly, Watson turned around in his bed and tried to go back to sleep. Not once he had opened his eyes. Then realization struck him.<p>

"Holmes!" Watson shouted as he jolted out of bed.

Holmes white sheets were covered in blood and he was the one with the choking fit.

Watson was still strapped down into his bed and couldn't get off the bed as he wanted so in his panic he screamed for help.

As if they were waiting for this exact moment, a nurse and the Dr. Salvatore came rushing in, followed by Mary, Laura, and Dawson.

In a blur Holmes was once again sedated and laid down breathing heavily.

"He wasn't supposed to walk up this early." Dr. Salvatore said as he stared at Holmes. "His body still hasn't healed fully. Some of his tissues are still ripped. He was supposed to sleep for the whole day today." the doctor tilted his head to the right as he continued looking at Holmes.

"How about you, Watson? How are you feeling?"

What a question to ask someone who had woken up to find their best friend covered in blood.

"A little shaken, but other than that, fine."

Dr. Salvatore nodded.

"Good thing we didn't move you to a different room, huh?" he said after a while.

Watson forced a laugh.

Turning around to face Mary, Laura, and Dawson, the doctor said "Do you mind waiting outside while I check on Watson?"

Nodding, Dawson led the two women out.

* * *

><p>The checkup didn't take long.<p>

"You're good to go. Just a little worn down from stress." Dr. Salvatore paused, waiting for Watson's confirmation.

"Yes." Watson replied.

After a moment of silence, the doctor sighed.

"I am worried for Holmes. Even though the operation was successful, that gun wound was something nasty. And then...him waking up that way. It's most likely a late reaction from the surgery, but he also ripped open his stitches a little, but the nurse took care of that. However the antiseptic that we gave him might not prevent infection. That part's really just up to Holmes."

"Infection?" Watson thought.

"Would the infection be deadly?" he asked.

"Depends on which form it takes place. If it's an infection caused by the stitches, that won't be a big deal. It'll just require another surgery. If it's from the gun wound and if it's not on his skin, but inside, then that's something to worry about. But an infection like that is highly improbable. If an infection does occur it'll most likely be caused by the stitches. And right now we can do nothing but give him antiseptics."

There was another pause.

"When can we be discharged?" Watson asked.

"You can be discharged first thing tomorrow morning. For Holmes, it all depends on how his condition is when he wakes up tomorrow."

Watson sighed.

"Thank you, doctor." he said.

"Now I'll leave you to rest. Don't stress too much. Do you want visitors?" the doctor asked his hand on the door knob.

"Not now." Watson knew that Mary was waiting anxiously, but he was not up to the task of facing her right now.

* * *

><p>"Watson," Watson woke to find Mary looking down at him. "It's five in the afternoon; don't you think you should eat something?" Mary asked.<p>

"I don't want to." Even to himself, Watson sounded like a whiny little kid.

"Well too bad, because you're eating." Mary sat down on the chair next to the bed and pulled out a tray of food from a nearby cart.

For a while Watson quietly ate the food that Mary was feeding him, but then nothing ever lasts.

"What did the doctor say?" Mary asked. "Something to worry about?"

Watson considered his choices. Then he spoke, "No. It was just a late reaction to the surgery. He's going to be fine."

"That's good to hear." Mary said as she disposed of the tray and began to tuck Watson in.

"You should rest some more." she said.

"I've been resting the whole day." Watson complained.

"I know, I know, but what else can you do?" After planting a kiss on his forehead, Mary walked out the door.

* * *

><p>Watson woke up to find to light brown eyes staring at him. He would have been startled, if the sparkle in the eyes wasn't so familiar.<p>

"Good Morning, Watson." The face belonged to Holmes, but the voice was foreign to Watson.

"Good Morning, Holmes."

"Watson,"

"Yes,"

"I have a sudden urge to eat pancakes. What do they have for breakfast at this hospital?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Holmes is FINALLY awake! I hope you all enjoyed! **_

**_I hope to have the next chapter out by May 5th so please bear with me till then_**

**_Once again hoped you all enjoyed and your reviews are all very welcome! _**


	11. Reassurance

**A/N: Hey guys, it's been a while, hasn't it? Just wanted to say that hope you all enjoy and just inform everyone that the next update won't be until some time in July.**

* * *

><p><strong>Reassurance <strong>

Everyone was crowded into their room. Dawson stood by the door with Laura, and Mary was at Watson's bed side. Watson was relieved. All the wires connected to his body were off and the knot that was in his chest for the past few days, was gone. He was finally getting discharged today!

But, sadly, he couldn't say the same for Holmes. In fact, Holmes had just woken up today and it would be a while before he would be discharged.  
>"So...what are you going to do when you get home?" Dawson asked, trying to make small talk.<p>

"Work on case notes, I guess." was Watson's reply.

"Oh gosh," Mary shook her head. "How about you and Laura come over for dinner?" Mary directed the question at Dawson who in turn raised his eyebrows.

"We wouldn't want to impose."

"Well you can't just stay here. Holmes will need to rest, and we've been in this hospital for days."

Dawson cast a glance at Laura, who smiled and srugged in turn.

"She's right you know. I am getting kind of tired staring at white walls. And you know Holmes. He'll want to be alone most of the time."

"Oh well, there you have it then." was Dawson's reply.

"I wonder how long they're going to make us wait till they discharge you." Mary asked, turning back to Watson.

"Probably after Holmes' check up is done." Watson replied without any feeling. He couldn't imagine living at home without Holmes. The missing violin music, the absent mindless ramblings. But then again, he was living with Mary now. Living with Mary was pleasant, but Watson still missed the little things about Holmes.

"I wonder how he's doing..." Laura spoke up.

"Well, he's probably really weak but other than that he should be fine." Watson replied. His conversation with the doctor came to mind, but he dismissed it. The stitches were taken care of and the antibiotics applied. Infection should not be a problem.

"Hm..." was the only reply that Watson got.

The rest of the time was spent in silence, each person dwelling over their own thoughts.

The silence broke with the rattling of the doorknob. At first Laura and Dawson jerked into standing position and then when the rattling continued, Dawson reached over and opened the door.

Who else, but Holmes? Supporting him was .

"He insisted." the doctor said when he say the questioning looks.

"Why, yes, yes I did. Thank you Dawson. May I add it's a pleasure seeing you? and of course, hello Laura, dear. Now Doctor, if you can kindly escort me to my bed." As always, Holmes' was on a role.

Watson shook his head. But beneath the amusement was worry. Too weak to turn a door knob? But, yet again Watson brushed it away.

"How is he Doctor?" he asked.

"He is right here, Watson." Holmes went ignored.

"Perfectly fine so far. Just a little weak. He should be up and ready to go in three to four days."

"That's good news." Finally, Watson could breathe.

"As if. The Doctor is just using a euphemism for 'Holmes is going to be locked into a small confined room without any thing to do or any one to talk to for three to four days.'"

Even though Holmes was probably being serious, everyone in the room cracked a smile.

"So, Watson. We should get started on your discharge papers."

* * *

><p>Watson wasn't in the mood for food. After bland hospital food, he should have been grateful, but as of now he was just playing with the peas in his plate. Using his fork he traced circular patterns with them.<p>

Mary, Laura, and Dawson were talking about Laura and Dawson's most recent case. Not something you wanted to discuss over food.

After a while, Laura noticed that he wasn't eating.

"What's wrong, Watson?" she asked.

"Nothing. I'm just not in the mood to eat."

"More like he's worried about Holmes." Mary added. Watson shot her a glance.

"Oh come on, John. Don't worry. He'll be fine. You heard the Doctor. It's a matter of three/four days." Dawson tried to offer some comfort.

"And you know that time flies." Laura added.

Watson just nodded.

"Well, I know that when Holmes comes back he'll expect you to have something done on the case. If you don't eat and keep your strength up, how will you work? You don't want to suffer from headaches again, do you?" Mary asked pointedly.

Oh god, that woman always knew what to say.

"And if you're that worried about Holmes, we can always go see him tomorrow at the hospital." Laura said.

That was true also. More for the sake of getting them to stop nagging him than anything else, Watson slightly cheered up and began to eat.

* * *

><p>"Starting case notes already? Don't you think you should rest?" Laura came and sat down next to Watson. Currently he was sitting at his desk. Mary was making tea, and Dawson had to leave on some urgent business.<p>

"For the past few days all I've been doing is resting. And anyways, I just want to get this over with." Watson did not want this case dangling in front of him any longer.

"Must be really hard, huh?" Laura asked after a moment of silence.

Watson shrugged.

"Don't worry," she clapped him on the back. "He'll be fine. He's Sherlock Holmes."

That brought a smile to Watson's lips.

"That he is."

Then after another moment,

"He didn't really get the chance to talk to you and Dawson today, did he? But I am sure tomorrow, he'll love to hear everything about your case and how you've been."

"I am pretty sure about that, too." she joked in return.

It's going to be okay. Watson thought. Everyone was right. There was no reason to worry. And anyways, three/four days would fly. And they could always visit Holmes at the hospital. It was all going to be okay.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry it's taken a while to update but since it's summer now, I'll try to update more frequently. Though, there are only a few more chapters left, maybe two or three.**

* * *

><p>It was the next day and Watson, Laura, and Dawson all set out to go to the hospital. The feeling of dread the Watson had the day before had disappeared and he held a different view of the world and his situation. Holmes was going to pull through, he was absolutely positive.<p>

The absence of worry left Watson feeling like a new man and now as he sat in the seat next to the driver's seat, in which Dawson was sitting, the wind flying in his face and making his hair stick up all over the place, he felt alive. Holmes was going to be alright, he was repeating to himself like a mantra.

He didn't know what had caused the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach to disappear, but he was glad it did.

* * *

><p>The hospital seemed different. It wasn't as gloomy as before or maybe it was just Watson.<p>

"How may I help you?" The receptionist asked them when they walked in.

"We're here to see Sherlock Holmes," Laura replied.

The receptionist typed something in and then turned back to the three friends.

"He's currently in the emergency room and undergoing surgery. He'll be out in another half an hour or so and then after the doctor submits his report and if the patient is in a stable condition then you can see him."

The feeling of happiness deflated and once again Watson was an empty shell. He crossed his arms across his chest and rubbed them in an effort to make the cold go away, but it was useless. The cold was inside of him. Maybe he was just over reacting.

"May I ask what the patient is undergoing surgery for?"

"Mold had built up on the patient's stitching and the doctor wanted to remove it before it caused an infection."

Watson sighed in relief.

"We'll wait." He announced.

* * *

><p>Half an hour passed and then an hour; an hour turned into two hours and still nothing. Watson didn't know what was happening to him, his heart and brain were crying. Dawson and Laura were also pretty tense and worried.<p>

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, but was only two and a half hours, Dr. Salvatore appeared in front of Watson. He was smiling, a good sign.

"How is he?" Laura asked when Watson could not speak. A lump had formed in his throat.

"Wonderful. The mold was removed and he's completely out of danger's way. You don't have to worry about anything. Now all we have to do is wait for him to recover from exhaustion. And then he'll be back at 221B Baker Street solving cases in no time…well actually a day, but…" the doctor shrugged his shoulders, a smile still plastered to his face.

For some reason Watson couldn't bring himself to reply.

"That's amazing," Laura and Dawson replied at the same time.

"Can we see him?" Dawson asked.

"Sure, we changed his room so now he's in the a normal ward. Ward five room 347." Dr. Salvatore informed them. "I have to go and write up his report now, so I shall see you around," with that he walked away.

"Come on, Watson." Laura got up from her seat and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Watson looked up at her and sighed.

"You heard the doctor, he's out of harms way. Let's go." She followed Dawson out of the waiting room and after a moment, so did Watson.

* * *

><p>"But that does not answer my question. If I am out of harms way then why can't I take a stroll through the gardens?" Watson heard Holmes' voice when Dawson pulled the door open. Despite the fact that he was feeling absolutely terrible, a smile formed on his face.<p>

The three friends filed into the room and Holmes drew his attention away from the nurse, who in turn looked thankful. She scurried out the room.

"Watson, I command that you take me from here at this moment."

"I am sorry but I can't do that."

'Watson." Holmes tried to sound stern.

"Yes?"

Holmes sighed.

"Dawson, Laura! What a pleasure to see you again. I didn't get the chance to ask you last time, how was your case?"

Laura and Dawson had barely opened their mouths to reply when Holmes answered his own question.

"You caught the criminal but a disturbing case, was it not? That brings me to the next point of matter, Watson, have you been working on the case files?"

"Holmes, how could you-"

"Have you, Watson?" Holmes cut him off.

"Yes."

"Wonderful, because I have the case solved. Now it's only a matter of time till I return home and then we shall head back to Cowyln Bay."

Watson stiffened again and sensing it, Laura changed the subject.

"Hey, we came back to meet you and your going to run away? I don't think so. First you have to treat Dawson and I to dinner and then you can go back to your case."

Holmes looked at her with steady eyes.

"Shouldn't it be you who treats me to dinner? I am the one who's hospitalized."

Laura laughed and Dawson cracked a smile. Not a moment had passed and Holmes groaned and fell back into his bed.

Watson jerked a step forward but then realized it was nothing to worry about.

"Holmes, what are you doing?" He asked.

"I am being held against my will and it's driving me insane. Boredom is the mind's worst enemy."

"It's not the end of the world, Holmes." Watson replied, once again smiling.

A moment of silence

"I miss Mrs. Hudson's cooking. She must be an evil mastermind lying in wait for the perfect opportunity but she her cooking is amazing."

That came out of no where. Watson burst out laughing.

"And you're always going on about how your afraid that she might have poisoned the lamb chops, or the tea, or the apple pie."

Holmes glared at his best friend.

"One can never let their guard down, Watson, a lesson I am sure you'll remember."

Watson knew that Holmes probably wasn't trying to put salt on his wound, but it still hurt.

"Well since it appears that you knew about the gun men there, you could have warned me."

"And in doing so I would have only endangered you."

Whatever rant Watson was forming in his head disappeared. Instead he settled for a

"You idiot."

"The day when the world's most brilliant detective is called an idiot...what has the world come to?"

Watson shook his head. Holmes would never change.

"Since it seems that Watson is not in an agreeable mood...tell me of your endeavors." Holmes shifted his attention from Watson to Dawson and Laura.

"I rather not," Laura replied jokingly. But in truth, she rather not discuss the case.

"Gruesome case." Dawson added and Laura nodded.

"Man eating dead bodies,"

The two partners flinched. Sherlock really had no sense of tact.

"I insist. Otherwise I think I shall go insane...or more so than I already am."

* * *

><p>Another day passed and before he knew it Watson was helping Holmes walk into the house (he was still a little weak), Laura and Dawson trailing behind them.<p>

Once in the house, Watson removed Holmes' arm from behind his neck and helped him sit on the couch.

"It's good to be back," Holmes exclaimed.

"It's good to have you back," Watson and Mrs. Hudson's voices answered together. Mrs. Hudson had just entered the room a tray of tea cups in her hands. "Even though you're most disagreeable sometimes," the rivalry never ends.

"Nanny, did you fix my violin?" Holmes asked as he motioned for Laura and Dawson to sit down and took a cup of tea from the tray.

"It's in your room."

Before drinking the tea, Holmes sniffed it and Watson looked at him in disbelief while Mrs. Hudson just smiled. Thank god that they had such a patient, tolerant, and understanding land lord.

"So," The look in Holmes' eyes signified that he was in the mood to talk.

* * *

><p>The evening passed by merrily; the four friends talked and talked until they could talk no more. Mrs. Hudson had prepared a banquet for Holmes' return and it was a pleasant touch.<p>

Around ten at night, Watson and Holmes bid Laura and Dawson farewell.

"Dinner tomorrow." Laura said before leaving.

They all had agreed.

Shutting the door Watson walked back to the living room and when he realized that Holmes hadn't followed, he turned back around.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

Holmes looked at him with calculating eyes.

"You're not returning home?"

"Not tonight."

"What about Mary?"

"It's almost like you don't want me here, Holmes."

Holmes smiled as his friend played along.

"The day will never come. I am going to retire to my room now; a sudden sense of nausea has come over me." Holmes headed towards his room and Watson called after him,

"Are you alright?"

"Quite fine."

Watson waited until he heard Holmes' door shut and then he too headed towards his room.

* * *

><p>The nest day Watson woke up earlier than his usual time. More specifically he woke up at the time Holmes usually wakes up. He got up from his bed, freshened up and headed towards the dining table. He noticed that Holmes' plate was untouched, and even though he found it strange, he dismissed it as Holmes over sleeping. After all, he was human too.<p>

Hours passed and still no sign of Holmes, and now Watson was beginning to worry.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Watson called her up.

"Yes?"

"Has Holmes gone somewhere?"

"Not that I know off."

"Thank you,"

Watson placed the phone down and pursed his lips, pushing away all his thoughts.

"The doctor said he's out of harms away." He reminded himself. But when he turned around and ran to Holmes' room he couldn't help the feeling of dread in his stomach.

He opened the door to Holmes' room with a bang and saw that he was still in bed. His back was to the door.

"Holmes?" Watson called out.

No answer.

He walked closer and turned Holmes over and immediately the breath was sucked out of him. His best friend was deathly pale, his forehead beaded with sweat. Not only that, but he burning up.

"Holmes!" Watson called out again and shook Holmes.

"Holmes?" He repeated the process several time, each time his shaking being fiercer. In the end he gave into reality.

He turned over to Holmes' nightstand and picked up his phone. Frantically he dialed an ambulance.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Happy Birthday to maybeitisnt...hopefully it's sill June 30th where ever you are :) **


	13. Chapter 13

"What happened, John?"

"Watson, is Holmes alright?"

"What happened to Sherlock? Is he alright?"

"Hang in there, Watson. It's going to okay."

"I'm amazed. This is truly a unique case. Usually infection after infection doesn't follow. The damage from the gun wound must have been more dangerous than we thought. But, I assure you that it can be cured with a surgery."

"The doctor said he'll be fine, John."

"Stop worrying, Watson. It isn't good for you. The doctor said he'll be fine."

"You should go home and rest, Watson. Too much stress isn't good for you. And anyways, Dawson and I will be here and the doctor said he'll be fine."

"The doctor said he'll be fine."

"The doctor said he'll be fine."

"The doctor said he'll be fine."

"He'll be fine."

The words echoed in Watson's head, over and over again; a never ending cycle. He wanted to shout out to scream and to rip the hair out of his head, but he didn't, couldn't. He was paralyzed and couldn't move from the hard plastic hospital seat he was in. Catastrophe after catastrophe, where had they gone wrong to deserve this torture? To see his best friend, his brother, battle with death again and again, Watson had had enough. Holmes had been in the ER for days now and the doctor had no good news. "He'll be fine," words void of any meaning, said in useless attempt to aim for hope and to console.

This time the stiches weren't the problem, it was the gun wound in his shoulder. At first it hadn't been anything serious. The doctors had been more focused on making sure that none of the other bullets had touched any major organs and the shoulder wound wasn't even severe or the most dangerous. An infection wasn't expected, the chances were five in a hundred. Of course, Holmes would beat the odds. Of course, he would make things difficult for Watson. Of course he would, because he was Sherlock Holmes.

Days passed and still no news on Holmes. They said he was recovering but Watson didn't have the strength to put his faith in the doctors. Mary, Dawson, and Laura, all faithful friends, never left his side.

Finally the day came.

"Watson, he'll need surgery." Dr. Salvatore sat down on the chair next to Watson with a sigh. The case had troubled him greatly, too.

"What's the catch?" There had to be a catch.

"Either the surgery works and the infection is removed and he's fine or the surgery works but his whole left side is in a temporary semi-paralysis state for a few weeks, a month at most. Even though the chances of the surgery failing are very few, we must consider that if the surgery fails, the infection could spread through his whole body and he'll be completely paralyzed."

Watson sighed.

"I don't know anymore, I really don't. Obviously, the best option is to go for the surgery."

"And if a temporary semi-paralysis state does occur, that can always be solved through therapy and medication."

Watson didn't reply.

"How fast can you get started?" He asked instead.

"We should start as soon as possible, but seeing that his body needs time to adjust to the new antibiotics, we should take him in by the latest, tomorrow evening."

"Earliest?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"And what's happening now?"

"Well, he's in the ER and we're trying to see if we can erase the infection with medication but we don't seem to be getting anywhere. The metal from the gun wound rusted and sooner or later will spread through his blood."

Watson flinched.

"At this point, nothing shocks me or disturbs me. Do I need to do any paper work for the surgery?"

Dr. Salvatore smiled at him.

"Nurse Kelly will have it prepared for you in five minutes."

* * *

><p>The next day, Watson spent without really knowing what was going on. Everything happening around him was blurred. Despite all the pleading that Mary, Dawson, and Laura had done with him, Watson had asked them all to do home. He wanted to be alone.<p>

He was more worried at this point than he was when Holmes had been subjected to all those shots. It should really have been reversed, but everything, Watson felt that fate was playing a cruel game. Just when Holmes would come through, he would be back under.

A few more hours, he told himself.

What was a few hours when he had already spent so many days waiting?

"Watson," a voice shook the blurry haze of black that had formed in front of Watson's eyes. Strange, he didn't recall falling asleep.

"Watson?" he recognized the doctor's voice. Forcing his eyes open, he waited for sense to come back to him.

"How is he?" was the first thing Watson asked when he could talk.

Dr. Salvatore weakly smiled at him.

"Stable for now. I'm keeping him at the hospital for a while. I want to make sure that this problem is over with."

Watson nodded. He did too.

"Is he sleeping?"

"I wouldn't say sleeping. More like unconscious. He kept on waking up during the surgery so we gave him a concentrated dose of sedatives."

Watson chuckled.

"Out of harm's way?"

"I hope so. But after this last episode, I'm not so sure. We're still running tests. The surgery was successful and the only thing he'll have a problem with is stiffness. He may be prescribed a few weeks of therapy, but who knows? He's in the same room he was in before, if you want to visit him."

Watson nodded.

"Thank you. You don't know how much this means to me."

Dr. Salvatore grinned. "He's my friend too, you know."

Shaking hands, the two men went their separate ways.

* * *

><p>It took a few more hours for Holmes to wake up and by the time he did, it was nearing midnight. Watson was trying to keep himself from nodding off and when he saw Holmes big brown eyes blinking at him he immediately felt an urge to curse his friend out.<p>

Instead he just nodded, both men short on words.

"I have an urge to slap you." Watson said after a moment of silence.

Holmes chuckled.

"You can. After we return from Colwyn Bay."

Watson didn't have the energy to act surprised.

"I have the case figured out, Watson."

He didn't really care.

"Why can't you just call the department there?" Watson asked.

Holmes didn't reply.

Sighing, Watson spoke.  
>"Did you figure out the case while you were unconscious?"<p>

His friend laughed.

"Not at all, my dear Watson. The only thing I had the pleasure of thinking about while being semi-unconscious was that my nose was itching."

Both friends burst out laughing.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," Watson threatened after the laughter died out.

"Do you wish to hear the results of my deduction?" Holmes answered.

What choice did Watson have?


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hey guys! So um, last chapter. I just wanted to thank everyone who reviewed and added this to their favorite/story alert list. **

* * *

><p>Three weeks had passed since Holmes had been discharged from the hospital and Watson had managed to put off their trip to Colwyn Bay by using Holmes physical therapy as an excuse. He had the feeling that Holmes knew what he was doing but if the brilliant detective had any idea, he never addressed it. As the days passed the feeling that Watson wouldn't be able to put off the dreaded trip any longer, grew.<p>

And then the day came. Coming home from his last therapy session, Holmes threw himself onto the couch instead of locking himself up in his room.

"Is something wrong?" Watson asked from his position on the other couch. He was currently reading the daily newspaper.

"Today was the last god damned session. You can longer use it as an excuse not to go to Colwyn Bay. I put up with your excuses but now we go. Just think about it like this, people lost their lives, Watson. I may have been on the brink of death but I did not die. The Nutesella household members did."

Using the newspaper to cover his face, Watson grit his teeth.

"Then you can go without me."

He heard Holmes sigh.

"If that's what you wish." A pause. "Mrs. Hudson! I need a three days' supply of food," Holmes called over his shoulder into the kitchen.

The nanny appeared in the doorway of the living room.

"Are you going somewhere again, Holmes?"

"Yes. I have an unfinished case I need to solve. I shall leave by tonight; now to go pack my bags." Watson waited until he heard Holmes bedroom door close before irritably throwing the paper onto the coffee table.

"He always has to have his way, doesn't he?" Watson asked no one in particular. Mrs. Hudson chuckled before leaving the room to prepare a meal for Holmes. She made another box for Watson, just in case.

* * *

><p>Holmes was waiting outside of their apartment, waiting for the familiar steady beat of footsteps. His best mate didn't disappoint.<p>

"You owe me for this, Holmes." Watson grumbled as he came to stand next to his friend.

"Of course."

"When's the cab coming?"

"Who said I called a cab?" Holmes waited for the outburst.

"Then what were you doing out here?" Watson asked, exasperated.

"I was waiting for you, my dear friend."  
>Watson narrowed his eyes.<p>

"I've come to ask myself time and time again, why I still bother to put up with you. Wait here while I get the car." With that, the doctor stalked off leaving Holmes rocking back and forth on his feet, grinning.

* * *

><p>The ride to Cowlyn Bay was a silent one. Holmes had begun to doze off when they were half way there and Watson wasn't in the mood for conversation. The day Holmes had been telling him of his deductions was running through his head and Watson's hands tightened on the steering wheel.<p>

Another hour or so and they would be arriving at their destination.

* * *

><p>"Holmes, we're here." Watson shook his best friend awake.<p>

Yawning, the other man spoke.

"That was fairly quick."

"Says you," Watson mumbled as he opened the door and stepped out. Taking a breath of fresh air, he breathed in deeply, willing his shoulders to relax. His eyes took in the police station and his stomach was doing three sixties again. Watson brought his hand to his pants pocket where his gun was resting. Maybe he was being paranoid but he wasn't about to take any chances.

"Ready to go in?" Holmes asked, genuine concern on his face.

"Does it matter?" Watson shot back.

"Good question. Yes and no. I'm heading in."

Watson watched his best friend walk up the stairs to the station for a moment before following him.

* * *

><p>"Lancroft?" Holmes pushed the door to the station open, peaking inside.<p>

"Holmes? Oh God, how are you?" The officer looked up from the papers on the desk and upon seeing the man he jumped up from his chair and hurried over to the door.

"In good health now. And how are you faring? The Nutesella case coming along fine?" Holmes asked as he held the door open for Watson, who stiffly walked in.

Lancroft's face fell.

"Come sit down."

The two friends followed the officer to his desk. As he sat down, Watson quickly glanced at the papers on the desk. The papers were photographs of dead bodies, their necks slit open. Wincing, Watson looked away.

"By the looks of the papers, you've caught the criminals and found the dead bodies." Holmes stated once they were all seated.

Lancroft tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"We did just as you said."

Suddenly, all the days where Holmes would lock himself in his room made sense to Watson. He'd been contacting Lancroft.

"Was I right, then?" Holmes asked with earnest eyes.

Sighing, the officer sitting across from them nodded.

"As soon as I finished talking to you, I dispatched a team to the furniture store. We caught the owner off guard, he fit your description, he did, and raided the store. Found the bodies in the attic. When we questioned the owner, he refused to know anything. We took him into custody and within three days he cracked. Said that he did it for revenge. Apparently, Lorenzo had more dirt on him than what we knew about. His mistress, the mother of Mary Jane Joseph, was the furniture store owner's sister and was forcefully taken from her home by Lorenzo. Also said that money played a part. He had taken Timothy and his birth papers and shipped him off to France with one of his accomplices. Said that in a few years when he would be older, that he would call him back and get him to claim the fortune." Lancroft paused and waited for the two men to access the situation, which was an unnecessary gesture. Holmes and Watson both already knew what Lancroft was telling them. Well, except for the part about Mary Jane Joseph's mother and revenge also being part of the scheme.

There were a few other pieces missing to the puzzle too, but Watson knew that if he waited, he would find out the whole story. When Holmes had been telling Watson his deductions, he'd missed out on a few details too. Both men were on the edge of their seats at the moment.

"And the man that had called?" Holmes asked when Lancroft didn't start speaking again.

"We found another dead body in the attic. We couldn't identify it; had no records on the man or anything. We asked the owner and he said that it was his co-worker who had helped him. He was the one that murdered the family and took their bodies out to the lake while the owner of the store redecorated. When he came out and saw that his co-worker had called the police he got mad and killed him, impulsively."

Holmes nodded, his face once again scrunched in thought.

"There seems to be a missing link." He said under his breath.

"The gun firing," Watson supplied.

Lancroft shook his head.

"Owner of the store, did I mention his name? It's Fredrick Richards. He said that he saw Watson walking around town and recognized him. Got worried, he did. Hired two men to take Holmes out."

Watson's jaw clenched.

"Where is he now?" He asked angrily. Within a second, Holmes had placed his hand on Watson's arm, willing him to calm down.

"We haven't caught the two men yet, but we have officers on their trail." Lancroft replied, sensing Watson's unease.

"The only thing, besides the servants, that doesn't add up is why now." Holmes turned back to Lancroft.

"Yes, we discussed this over the phone. He said it was because Mary Jane's mother, Ashley Richards was her name, she was pregnant with another child. The servants….didn't I tell this to you in the beginning of the case? They didn't have any; only a nanny who came in the day and left before six."

"And the murder happened late at night," Holmes added.

"So in order to save his family name from any further disgrace he killed her and her husband and kidnapped Timothy so that he would gain something from it." Watson summed up.

Lancroft nodded.

"I couldn't have done it without you, Holmes. We sent an officer to France to retrieve the little boy. Will have to put him in the orphanage until he's old enough to understand what has happened and claim the money."

"Not all the credit goes to me. Much to my dismay, I only solved half the case."

Lancroft laughed.

"Now that this messy business is done with, how about we go out and get a drink?"

"A quick one. After that, Watson and I have to return home."

"What? I thought you were staying here for three days."

Holmes looked at his friend with twinkling eyes.

"I needed a way to convince you to join me."

As much as Watson wanted, he couldn't muster up any anger. Sighing, he hoisted himself out of his chair.

"Shall we go then,"

"We shall," Holmes and Lancroft replied, also getting off from their chairs.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry if it seemed rushed or wasn't satisfying. I hope you all enjoyed. Once again, thank you for all the reviews, favorites, and story alerts :) **


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